


"but should you rise with crying eyes"

by talkwordytome



Series: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics [5]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaker Zelda, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I read Anne of green gables like a million times as a child, Sickfic, can you tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: “I’m a bit… erm… worried. About Sabrina,” Hilda said, twisting her fingers together.Here, Zelda looked up. “Why?” she asked sharply. “What’s wrong?”“Well,” Hilda said slowly, “she’s, you know, ill, Zelds.”“You’ve never worried when she’s been ill before,” Zelda said. “What makes this time different? Should I be worried as well?”or: in which the Spellman household falls victim to The Kindergarten Plague
Relationships: Ambrose Spellman & Hilda Spellman & Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Sabrina Spellman, Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman
Series: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676038
Comments: 17
Kudos: 71
Collections: CAOS pre-canon kid!fics & family!fics





	"but should you rise with crying eyes"

**Author's Note:**

> So on my last fic, TC requested a fic where Sabrina gets a mortal illness and Hilda & Zelda aren't sure how to help, & this started out like that but then got away from me & turned into a bit of something else. So I hope it's still at least a little what you wanted!
> 
> I am v much a hurt/comfort & sickfic person so this was a lot of fun for me to write; hopefully it's fun for y'all to read!
> 
> Title comes from the song "I'll Take Care of You" by The Dixie Chicks! (in a fully platonic way)
> 
> Shout out to the best beta reader/girlfriend/human on Earth i.e. cjscullyjanewaygay!
> 
> I own neither CAOS nor its characters.

**February 2009**

Saturday morning dawned bright and frigid at the Spellman home. The smells of cardamom and baked apples filled the kitchen as a batch of muffins browned in the oven. Hilda hummed softly to herself as she stirred a new bowl of batter—this one for cranberry walnut muffins—and waited for the rest of her family to stir. She was sitting down at the kitchen table to enjoy a fresh mug of coffee when she heard Zelda’s heels tapping down the stairs.

“Damned morning, sister,” Zelda said briskly as she entered the kitchen.

“Morning, Zelds,” Hilda said, rolling her eyes ever so slightly at her sister’s customary greeting.

“How did you sleep?” Zelda asked, pouring a mug of coffee for herself and adding a generous helping of cream. 

“Oh, fine enough, I suppose,” Hilda said. “Though I thought I heard Sabrina up a few times in the night.”

“Where _is_ Sabrina?” Zelda asked before taking a long sip of coffee.

Hilda gave her a slightly worried look. “Sleeping still, last I checked,” she said.

Zelda raised her eyebrows. That was certainly odd. The six-year-old was a tiny perpetual motion machine and a chronically early riser. It wasn’t at all unusual for one of the Spellmans to come downstairs at 6:30 or 7:00am, only to find Sabrina already situated at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a picture book.

As though she’d been conjured (which was not entirely outside the realm of possibility in the Spellman house), the sound of rattling, congested coughs echoed through the hallway. Sabrina appeared on the threshold of the kitchen, moving uncharacteristically slow for a kindergartner. In her arms she clutched Hugo, her beloved teddy bear, and around her shoulders she’d draped her old yellow baby blanket. She was pale and sleep-rumpled, her eyes glassy and her expression confused.

She immediately clambered into Hilda’s lap and pressed her hot little face into Hilda’s collarbone, which was how both women knew she was sick even before she whimpered, “Aunties, I don’t feel good.” Though certainly an affectionate child, Sabrina was also independent nearly to a fault and had been proclaiming herself _a big girl who doesn’t need Auntie’s help_ for the better part of three years now. Such unabashed clinginess was concerning indeed.

“Poor baby bunny,” Hilda cooed, brushing blonde curls from Sabrina’s eyes. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” Sabrina said without lifting her face from Hilda’s chest.

“Dear me, that’s certainly a lot of things,” Hilda said, pressing a napkin to Sabrina’s nose and gently instructing her to blow. “Can you perhaps narrow it down for me?”

“My throat,” Sabrina croaked. “And my ears, and I can’t really hear anything out of my right one. And my head is all stuffy, and it hurts here,” she gestured vaguely towards the center of her chest, “when I cough.”

Hilda dropped a kiss on top of Sabrina’s head. “I am so sorry you’re feeling poorly, darling,” Hilda said. “Why don’t you go and watch some television with Ambrose for a while? Your Auntie Zee and I need to figure out plans for the rest of the day and see about getting you some medicine.”

“No,” Sabrina whined, cuddling even closer to Hilda. “Stay here with you.”

Hilda shut her eyes, sighed, and laughed a little because, truly, what else can one do? She nimbly untangled herself from the clinging arms of her niece, guided her into the parlor, and situated her on the sofa. She tucked the baby blanket around Sabrina’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. “Ambrose, please take care of your cousin; she’s not feeling well,” Hilda said on her way out.

“Sure thing,” Ambrose said, resigned to his duties if not exactly thrilled about them. “Come here, my little germ vector. Let’s see if we can find a television program we can both agree on.”

Hilda bustled back into the kitchen and straight to the pantry, rolling her eyes for the second time that morning when she realized that Zelda had already disappeared into the depths of her study. It fascinated Hilda endlessly that her brave big sister—also the coven’s most sought-after midwife—would balk at the merest hint of a sniffle from Sabrina, but she had enough sense to keep her comments to herself. She didn’t particularly relish the thought of an overnight stay in the Cain pit.

“Let’s see,” she muttered to herself, looking through her stores. “We’ll need some ginger, certainly, and a bit of damiana, a dash of turmeric and nutmeg…”

The morning passed uneventfully enough into afternoon; Zelda and Ambrose both relegated themselves to their own little corners of the universe, leaving Hilda to look after Sabrina. This was perfectly fine with her, though she did begin to feel small prickles of concern when Sabrina’s fever didn’t respond to a cool washcloth soaked in lavender and peppermint oils. 

Next she tried the much-despised basil-and-black-pepper tea. It wasn’t successful either, though Sabrina drank her entire dose without a peep. That in and of itself was enough to turn the small prickles of concern into genuine anxiety; Hilda had nursed Sabrina through all of her various childhood illnesses, but she’d never seen her so lethargic and compliant. She spent most of the day either sleeping or coughing, and no amount of eucalyptus-rosemary-balm seemed to help.

“Er, Zelds?” Hilda said, knocking quietly on the study door later that evening. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yes, Hilda, what is it?” Zelda said without looking up from her notebook.

“I’m a bit… erm… worried. About Sabrina,” Hilda said, twisting her fingers together.

Here, Zelda looked up. “Why?” she asked sharply. “What’s wrong?” 

“Well,” Hilda said slowly, “she’s, you know, _ill_ , Zelds.”

“You’ve never worried when she’s been ill before,” Zelda said. “What makes this time different? Should _I_ be worried as well?”

“No, no,” Hilda said hurriedly, for the last thing she needed on top of a sick Sabrina Spellman was an anxious Zelda Spellman. “I don’t think so, anyway. I might need an extra pair of hands looking after her tonight, though. That’s all.”

Zelda’s eyes flashed with an emotion Hilda couldn’t quite read. “I’m sure the care you’re giving is more than satisfactory, sister,” she said. “Certainly much better than what I would provide.”

Hilda tilted her head to the side, feeling that she was very close to unlocking a new room in Zelda’s heart. “That may be true,” she said, keeping her tone determinedly neutral, “but she’s been asking for you.” She managed to catch a glimpse of Zelda’s face just as she let the study door fall shut—scared and uncertain and hopeful and wanting, all at once.

~~~

“Aunties? Are you awake?”

Sabrina’s hoarse whisper jerked Hilda from her restless sleep. “Sabrina?” she said, turning on her bedside lamp. “What is it, darling? Where does it feel badly?”

Sabrina’s face was drained of all its usual color, save for the spots of fever high in her cheeks, and her pajamas were soaked with sweat. Each breath she took seemed to cost her a Herculean effort, and they wheezed faintly in her chest. She doubled over with a raspy cough, tears springing to her eyes, and just managed to say, “It… hurts. Like I can’t… breathe.”

“Hilda, what is it?” Zelda snapped, fear making her short tempered. “What’s wrong with her?”

“It sounds like croup,” Hilda said, throwing back her covers. “Zelda, I need you to turn on the shower as hot as it will go, alright? Close the bathroom door and let the steam fill the whole room. We need to see if we can help her to cough up what’s making it difficult to breathe or else we’ll need the hospital.”

“ _Hospital_ —!?”

“Zelda!” Hilda said. “Now, please!”

Zelda, though pale (slightly more than usual) and shaken, rushed towards the bathroom, pausing only to give Sabrina’s shoulder a brief, reassuring squeeze. “Come on, sweetheart,” Hilda said to Sabrina, taking her hand, “let’s go get changed into a fresh pair of jammies, yes? You must be awfully chilled in this damp pair, poor darling.”

In the cloying heat of the bathroom, steam swirled around the Spellman sisters like a fog. Sabrina’s bangs were plastered to her forehead and she was still flushed, though not gasping for air quite so desperately as before. “Does she need the hospital?” Zelda asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Hilda palmed Sabrina’s face, then shook her head. “No,” she whispered, brushing loose strands of hair from Sabrina’s eyes. “Her fever has gone down a bit and her breathing isn’t quite so congested. Besides, I worry the trip there would make her feel even worse.”

Sabrina coughed, then gagged, and Hilda held a towel up to her mouth so she could spit. “That’s my brave girl,” comforted Hilda, rubbing her back. “Get all the bad stuff up.”  
Hilda’s eyes were closing against her will, and it occurred to Zelda that Hilda likely hadn’t had a moment of rest since Sabrina first came downstairs and announced she didn’t feel well. With a sigh she gently maneuvered Sabrina from Hilda’s arms. “Go get some sleep, Hildy,” she instructed, quieting Hilda before she could protest. “We’ll be fine, and I’ll wake you should anything change for the worse.”

Hilda nodded and stood, stretching. She kissed Sabrina’s forehead. “I’ll be right in the other room, okay, sweetness?” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Auntie, s’okay,” Sabrina said as she settled into Zelda’s arms. “Auntie Zee is here.”

 _I am so proud of you_ , Hilda mouthed as she left, even though she knew Zelda would pretend not to see. 

Zelda allowed herself a small, private smile all the same.

~~~

By 3:30 the worst of the croup had passed, and Sabrina spent the rest of the night and the following day convalescing in her bed.

When breakfast time came she was sitting primly in its dead center like a tiny queen, propped up against fluffy pillows and flanked by loyal stuffed animals on either side. Hilda spent every spare moment with Sabrina, cuddling her, both dressed in soft flannel pajamas. She listened to the steady and certain beat of Sabrina’s heart, the even crest of her breathing; she whispered every calming spell she knew, though for whose benefit she couldn’t say. Zelda popped uncertainly in and out, hovering in the doorway like a pretty, nervous bird. Late in the afternoon, Sabrina persuaded her to join them for a nap, and the three of them slept soundly, curled close in Sabrina’s bed.

On the second day, when Sabrina was well enough again to venture downstairs, they watched _My Fair Lady_ once, then twice, Hilda singing along in an exaggerated Cockney accent to make Sabrina laugh. Zelda was left in charge of lunch, which meant grilled cheese sandwiches cut into Wonder Bread triangles and endless cans of chicken and stars soup, not that Sabrina was complaining. A pitiful request for sore throat ice cream was granted, and all three witches enjoyed heaping ice cream sundaes, heavy on the hot fudge. Zelda scratched Sabrina’s back as Hilda read _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_ aloud, and Sabrina gave notes until Hilda’s Farmer McGregor voice was appropriately menacing.

Ambrose came down with the bug on the third day, which was as alarming as it was surprising, considering that witches and warlocks typically only got sick once every 75 to 100 years, if that. Hilda quarantined the two patients in Sabrina’s bedroom, enlarged to comfortably accommodate both beds with a touch of magical architecture; she drank endless cups of preventative dragon fire cold-potion and forced as many sips as she could down Zelda’s throat before she revolted. She lit candles rubbed in ground allspice and cinnamon and clove and prayed for the return of health and vitality; Zelda cleansed the house with smoldering bundles of lavender and sage and angelica root. They collapsed into their beds just before 1:00 am, wan and spent, feet and backs aching.

When Hilda woke the next morning with a heavy head and a throat too sore to form words, it took everything in Zelda’s power to keep from bursting into tears. “I cannot believe,” Hilda moaned, “that I was a nurse in World War II Normandy without getting sick _once_ , and this kindergarten plague is going to be what finally kills me.”

“The only thing that has ever killed you or will ever kill you,” Zelda said sternly as she added honey to Hilda’s tea, “is me.”

“Are you sure you’re up to looking after all three of us, Zelds?” Hilda said, then took a grateful sip of the proffered beverage. “I don’t you wearing yourself out, and you’re dreadful about being sure to sleep and eat when you’re under stress—”

“I will be fine, sister,” Zelda said, gentle but firm. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

“Zelda,” Hilda said through coughs, “I always have a need to worry about you. It’s what sisters do.”

Zelda gave an attempt at an amused smile, but in her nervousness it looked more like a grimace. 

For all her uncertainty in the face of familial illness, Zelda certainly rose to the occasion; but then, Zelda Spellman had never yet encountered an occasion to which she _couldn’t_ rise. She made Ambrose cold compresses for his fever and wrapped Sabrina in extra blankets when she was chilled. She slipped the tiniest bit of foxglove into Hilda’s tea when she began making noises about getting out of bed to help. She made a pot of chicken soup from scratch, and then another when the first proved a surprise success. She woke in the night to administer water and medicine, cool hands to heated brows and soft reassurances after delirious dreams. She set up a cot in the kitchen and slept when her mind quieted enough to let her, which was not often.

The hours passed like days, and the days passed like hours; time moved strangely, slowly, like dripping honey or malaria. The air in the house felt thick and yellowed and difficult to breathe. Zelda survived on cigarettes and heady black coffee. Late one night, nearly a week after Sabrina first fell ill, long after the rest of the house was asleep, Zelda went outside.

The moon was so full it was almost comely; a great, glittering dewdrop. Her bare feet throbbed from the cold; goosebumps stood out on her bare arms. She looked up at the sky, comforted to be so small in the face of something so large, and she waited for healing.

~~~

Saturday morning again dawned bright and frigid, and three out of four Spellmans sat around the kitchen table, delighted to be feeling well at last. It was after 9:00, but they still wore their pajamas as they ate their breakfast; they happily devoured cranberry-walnut muffins after a week spent with no appetites. Zelda was conspicuously absent from this tableau, though they agreed she deserved all the rest she wanted and then some; after all, as Hilda pointed out, if the past week had been hard for them, it must have been nearly impossible for Zelda.

When Zelda finally did finally emerge from her bedroom it was nearly 11:00; she wore Hilda’s coziest dressing gown over her nightgown and carried a box of tissues under her arm. Her hair was in utter disarray and her eyes were so heavily shadowed that they looked bruised. “Hildy,” she said faintly, looking for all the world like a sleepy child, “I think I may have finally caught what you all had.”

“Oh, Zelds,” Hilda exclaimed, hurrying to her sister and guiding her to a chair. “Love, you shouldn’t even be out of bed; you look like you barely have strength enough to stand as it is. And no wonder,” she tutted, “after all those days running yourself ragged looking after us. I’m so sorry.”

Zelda waved off her apology dismissively, but said nothing. “I feel dreadful,” she said, coughing, bypassing all her usual fussing and denying and refusing of concern. Her watery eyes fell closed as she rested her head in her hands. 

“Poor Zelda,” Hilda sighed, patting her sister’s hand. “Can I get you something, darling? Anything at all?”

Zelda tried to speak, but sneezed instead. “I just want sleep,” she said, wiping at her pink nose. “I feel as if I haven’t really slept in days. And,” she said bashfully, as if expecting the request to be denied, “perhaps tea? With some cream?”

“Of course,” Hilda said, then kissed Zelda on top of her head. “With _extra_ cream. How does that sound?”

“Perfectly hellish,” Zelda managed before succumbing to another coughing fit.

“We’ll take the best care of you, Auntie,” Sabrina said, trailing into the kitchen. “It’s not fair that you have to feel yucky when you took such good care of us.”

“You don’t have to do anything special, truly—” Zelda began, but an unusually fierce glare from Hilda stopped her cold.

“Stop being ridiculous,” Hilda instructed tartly. “The very idea that we would let you languish alone is absolute poppycock, not a thought worth entertaining for even a moment.”

“I’m sorry we got you sick, Aunt Zee,” Sabrina said, climbing into Zelda’s lap.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” Zelda sniffed, smiling tiredly at her niece. “But thank you anyway.”

“The _two_ of you are going to spend the day resting,” Hilda said sternly as she filled the kettle. “And no arguments, Sabrina; you’re much too peaky for my taste. Croup is not an illness to toy with, young lady, and you still had a touch of fever last night.”

“I don’t mind,” Sabrina said, playing with a lock of Zelda’s hair. “We can lie in bed all day, Auntie Zelda, and we can read books, and tell stories, and play paper dolls, and eat all the ice cream we want, and no one can tell us no.”

Zelda closed her eyes, allowing herself a rare moment of self-pity now that the universe had granted her its permission. “I think,” she said, smiling weakly up at Hilda, “that may be precisely what the doctor ordered.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests for this series, send 'em my way! My inbox is always open, y'all :D


End file.
